


The Twelve Days of Shitty Christmas

by 27dragons, slashtext



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, New Years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashtext/pseuds/slashtext
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in the day, Steve and Bucky, knowing they couldn't afford to get each other the gifts they really wanted to give, competed to give each other the worst, shittiest presents possible. Now that Bucky's been recovered and they're settling into life in the future, they're reviving the tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 21

"When I said we should have a small Christmas, this is not what I had in mind."

Bucky dropped his duffel on the floor of their apartment with a ragged sigh, and scuffed his boot through the dirt and dust covering the hardwood. They had meant to clean between missions, but then mad scientists attacked, Steve's overseas mission got moved up, and Bucky's got extended, and by the time they'd both made it back to Stark Tower, the mess they'd left behind had taken over their apartment.

"I don't know," Steve said, slumping onto the sofa and shoving some old gear out of the way to make room for Bucky beside him. "Week-old Chinese cartons are traditional holiday decor in New York these days."

"Yeah, only those aren't week-old. More like a month," Bucky corrected him, taking his place on the sofa and dropping his head onto Steve's shoulder, trading the smell of rancid take-out for Steve's sweat and deodorant.

"Two weeks? Three?" Steve's head lolled back against the cushions. "Next time we gotta let Tony hire us a maid."

"No way." Bucky had been refusing that offer since he moved into to Steve's place, and wasn't about to let some stranger go rummaging in his stuff now.

"Maybe a robot maid?"

"Nope, that's worse."

Steve let himself drift off for a moment, reveling in the feeling of sitting on his own couch, with Bucky warm and solid by his side. Even with the dingy dishes left in the sink, the place still smelled like home: like gun oil, and coconut oil, and Bucky's herbal shampoo. He didn't realize he'd actually fallen asleep until Bucky nudged him in the shin.

"Sorry," Steve muttered, too exhausted to really know why he was apologizing, but he let Bucky manhandle him up off the couch and into the bedroom.

Bucky dropped Steve onto the bed and tugged off his own boots, and then Steve's, letting both pairs tumble gracelessly to the floor. They fell asleep still half in uniform, grease and sweat marking up the crumpled sheets, and didn't wake up for another eight hours, when sunlight started sneaking through the blinds.

Steve was already awake, smiling at Bucky like he was the only source of light in the room.

"You need a shower," Bucky griped, because it was still too early to be looked at like that, especially when his own hair hadn't been washed in a couple days, and he could feel it sticking to his forehead in thick, dirty clumps.

Steve rolled his eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind Bucky's ear, letting his fingers settle behind Bucky's ear before leaning in for a kiss. Bucky almost lost himself, just staring at Steve's eyelashes and lips, and soaking in every bit of his face that he'd missed for the past month, but he remembered it had been maybe a day and a half since he brushed his teeth, and jerked back with a laugh.

"Shower with me?" Steve asked, pulling them both up off the bed.

Bucky followed, and they tripped over each other all the way to the bathroom, drunk on the physical contact they'd been missing for so long. They brushed their teeth quickly, and took their time stripping and kissing before stepping into the steaming shower. Steve massaged soap over Bucky skin, swirling his fingers around the over-worked muscles in his back, and brushed shampoo through his hair.

Bucky moaned at the scrape of Steve's fingers over his scalp, and rocked his hips against Steve's, sliding their slick skin together until they were both gasping into each other's mouths, kissing rough and messy.

They stumbled out of the shower after the water went cold, still smiling and giggling, bumping up against each other just to feel skin on skin. Unfortunately, the apartment still wasn’t as clean as they were, and it took another hour before the place smelled less like gym socks and more like bleach.

"Should we bother decorating?" Steve asked, still wiping down the granite countertops.

"Why, you want some mistletoe?" Bucky gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and hoisted himself up onto the counter, pulling Steve between his legs.

Steve rolled his eyes and set down his rag, running his hands around Bucky's hips. "Yeah, sure."

"Like you need an excuse."

Steve hummed in agreement, and kissed his way up Bucky's neck. "Tony'll have stuff up all over the tower anyway."

"Yeah," Bucky said with a laugh. "Did you see that massive tree in the lobby?"

"And the one in the lounge?"

"I just hope Pepper doesn't let him put up more shit for the Christmas party."

Steve groaned, slumping against Bucky's shoulder. "I forgot about the fucking party."

"Well at least you already got me a gift." Bucky nuzzled into Steve's hair with a smirk. "That was a really beautiful sketch. Are you going to frame it for me?"

"Sketch?" Steve asked.

"Of me getting mauled by a bear?"

Steve tossed his head back with a burst of laughter. "That hardly counts as mauling. Or as a Christmas present."

"Are you kidding? That's the worst one you've gotten me since we were kids. I don't think you can do better."

"Oh, god." Steve shakes his head. "You had to bring that up."

"One year you gave me a moldy piece of bread and told me it was a science project," Bucky said with a fond smile. "What a nice memory."

"Fuck you," Steve laughed. "I beat you that year - you just gave me pencil stubs. That was actually a good present. Not really in the spirit of the game."

"Well I bet I'll win this year." Bucky kissed Steve's forehead and slid off the counter. "Texting me a picture of a bear beating me up is pretty good, Rogers, but you'll have to do better."

Steve shrugged, a smile lighting up his face. They didn't get to relive the past very often, but finding out who could give the worst Christmas gift probably wasn't going to set off a panic attack for either of them. "Do your worst, Buck. You've got twelve days to beat me." 


	2. December 22

Bucky knocked on Natasha's door. "I need your help."

She opened it quickly, her face schooled into a neutral mask. "What is it?"

Bucky held up his hands, open and waving. "Nothing like that. I just. I need help with a present for Steve."

Natasha smirked. "What do you need my help for? You know his lingerie preferences better than--"

"Not that kind of present," Bucky clarified quickly. He rummaged in his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled plastic shopping bag from the corner drugstore. He peered inside, then looked up and down the hall furtively. "Can I come in?"

***

"Hey, be careful with this," Bucky said as he turned over the package to Steve. "It's delicate."

"Delicate," Steve said disbelievingly. "My shitty Christmas present is _delicate_."

"Yes," said Bucky impatiently. "It is shitty and it is also delicate, so don't fucking break it!"

Steve gave Bucky a supremely unimpressed look. "If it's shitty, why do I care if I break it?"

Bucky just growled, and Steve grinned as he looked down at the package in his hand. It was small, barely the length of his hand, and only half as wide. Its shape was irregular, wider on one end than the other, and flat. It appeared to have been wrapped by the simple expedient of crumpling the wrapping paper around the object and then taping it into submission. The wrapping paper was white and dotted with what Steve thought at first were blue snowflakes, but which on closer examination turned out to be tiny menorahs. "Hanukkah paper, Buck? Really?"

Bucky shrugged. "Happened to be lying around."

Natasha had been sitting by herself in a nook on the far side of the Christmas tree, tapping at a tablet, but now she looked up, interested. "What are you doing?"

"Shitty Christmas presents," Bucky said, not looking at her. All his focus was on Steve. His mouth was already beginning to curve into a smirk as he watched Steve carefully pick at the -- Christ, it had to be at least half a roll of tape -- so as not to damage the _delicate_ gift.

"I'm sorry?" Natasha set the tablet aside and came over to them, her head cocked curiously.

"Shitty presents," Steve repeated. "Bucky, you tell her, I'm trying to figure out how the hell you managed to get tape tied in a _knot_."

He listened with only half an ear as Bucky explained the tradition to Natasha. She looked suitably dubious, and then amused and charmed -- which, to be honest, was pretty much how the whole thing still struck _Steve_.

Slowly, Steve managed to get the tape loosened enough to start picking at the paper underneath. Hampered by the -- were there two _layers_? -- tape, it only shredded into fingernail-sized pieces that showered to the floor.

"I'm not vacuuming that up," Natasha warned.

"Wasn't gonna ask you to," Steve said, gritting his teeth. Where the fuck had Bucky found tape that was so strong Steve couldn't break it? _Delicate_ , he reminded himself.

 _Shitty_ , he reminded himself back, and continued, "The confetti is Bucky's fault, he can clean it up."

Bucky pretended to be shocked. "That's the thanks I get, after all the thought and effort I put into this?" he demanded.

"Sounds about right," Steve grunted. There, _finally_ , the tape had split. He peeled back more paper to reveal--

"It's a candy cane," Steve said. He pulled it free of the rest of the paper. "It's a candy cane covered in fluff."

"I had to put it in the fluff," Bucky said, rounding his eyes. "It's _delicate_."

"They usually come wrapped," Steve observed, picking a bit of cotton lint off the bottom of the candy and letting it drop to the floor with the shreds of wrapping paper.

"Well, yeah, but I fished this one out of Nat's garbage," Bucky said soberly. "I think she licked it first."

"I wondered who'd been rooting around in my trash," Natasha hummed, apparently unsurprised. "I should have guessed."

Steve snorted, and then grinned. "This is pretty damn shitty," he told Bucky.

Bucky grinned back. "Thanks," he said proudly. "Think you'll be able to top it?"

"You'll have to wait and judge for yourself tomorrow," Steve said. He kissed Bucky's forehead, then stretched up on his tiptoes to hang the candy cane -- gluey fluff and all -- high on the Christmas tree. "Thanks, jerk."

"You're welcome, punk."

"You two need some more modern insults," Natasha observed. She picked up her tablet and left the room, winking to Bucky from behind Steve's back.

 


	3. December 23

Bucky turned the package over and over. It was smaller than the palm of his hand, wrapped in plain brown paper, and didn't weigh much at all. "Punk, if you wrapped wrapping paper for me…" he grumbled.

"After that Hanukkah paper yesterday, I _should've_ ," Steve said. "But no, that's not what it is."

Bucky harrumphed and slid his finger under the tape to break the seal. Inside the paper was what looked like a kindergartener's homemade flip-book, a dozen or so pieces of paper cut sloppily into rectangles and held together with a couple of staples. The page facing him was blank, so he turned it over to look at the other side, and his breath caught.

The front of the little booklet had a pencil drawing in Steve's distinct style, a rough sketch of a man that was most likely supposed to be Steve himself (with that shoulder-to-waist ratio, it could hardly be anyone else) wearing a sultry French maid costume and winking at the viewer.

Holy crap, had Steve drawn him a book of blue pictures? That was hardly in the spirit of the shitty gift exchange they had agreed on. Yeah, okay, sure, Bucky was thinking of breaking that rule, too, but not until the _end_.

Steve's grin was fit to split his face. "Open it," he demanded, bouncing on his toes like a kid with a pocket full of frogs.

Cautiously, Bucky turned back the cover of the little book. The first page read: WATER THE PLANTS and had a crude and hasty drawing of a watering can sprinkling a plant that looked nothing at all like the couple of potted plants in Steve and Bucky's shared quarters.

"It's a coupon book for chores!" Steve crowed.

Bucky blinked in confusion. It wasn't quite as good as a book of blue pictures, but it wasn't all that shitty, either. He turned another page. LOAD THE DISHWASHER was accompanied by a drawing of a smudgy circle that Bucky was pretty certain was supposed to be a dirty plate.

He kept flipping through the book. It wasn't until he got to the last page (FOLD AND PUT AWAY STEVE'S LAUNDRY, with a scribble that was probably a mound of laundry with wavy lines of stink coming out of the top) that the penny dropped. "These are all your chores anyway," he realized, snorting.

Steve put on a broad, falsely-magnanimous smile. "I'm a generous guy that way," he said, and broke into laughter when Bucky smacked him on the arm, smirking.

***

It still wasn't as shitty a gift as it was supposed to be, though.

As it happened, there was the _actual_ "French maid" costume that Steve had bought, complete with a ridiculously fluffy feather duster.

"I needed it for the reference!" Steve claimed. His eyes were wide and innocent; his voice, low and dirty.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. " _Tu vas le mettre avant d'aller au lit_?" [Would you wear it to bed?]

Steve smirked like a cat in the cream. " _On va voir_." [we'll see]

As it happened, Steve would, indeed, be willing to wear the costume to bed.

" _Mais monsieur, j'ai à nettoyer_!" [But sir, I have to clean!]

" _Croyez-moi, je suis très sale_." [Trust me, I am very dirty.]

Steve busted up laughing and Bucky just pulled him closer, sliding his hands over the smooth, shiny satin of the bustier. It didn't take him long to discover that if he tweaked Steve's nipples through the material, Steve got weak in the knees. "Maybe you should just stay on your knees, then," he murmured, and grinned at the way Steve's blush disappeared down below the costume's daring neckline.

Bucky also learned that the careful application of the prop feather duster to the insides of Steve's thighs made him whimper and writhe, and that the handle of the prop feather duster was actually a vibrating dildo.

Bucky gasped in mock-horror. "Golly, Steve, I don't think the company that sold you this outfit was a real uniform service at _all_!"

"Dammit, Buck," Steve groaned.

Bucky laughed some more and worked the dildo a little deeper into Steve's ass, playing with the settings on the vibrator. There were a couple that made Steve's panting and moaning shoot suddenly into a high-pitched whine, and that was kind of fun.

When he got it fully seated, he played with the angle until he found Steve's prostate, and then started fucking him with it, slow and irregular, just so Steve couldn't capture the rhythm and anticipate him. "Fuck, _Bucky_ ," Steve ground out, his hips rolling desperately.

"Don't you dare come yet," Bucky commanded. "You don't want to get your pretty lace petticoats all messy, do you?"

(Bucky absolutely wanted Steve to mess up his pretty lace petticoats. Just not until Bucky had finished ~~punishing~~ thanking him for that shitty present.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Thallys](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thallys/pseuds/Thallys) for fixing the French from its original terrible Google Translate nonsense! :D


	4. December 24

By the time the french maid outfit was exquisitely ruined, Bucky figured the coupon book wasn't so shitty after all. The one downside seemed to be that Steve decided to neglect _all_ his chores in the hope Bucky would suggest extra "punishment," but it wasn't a downside Bucky was going to complain about. He was on a high, from home, and Steve, and damn good sex, but it was a comfortable, mellow sort of high that would never send him crashing.

The next morning, Bucky woke up smiling and warm. For the first time in months there were no orders or assassinations, and the sun was beaming out of a bright blue sky, making even the dirtiest snow in the street sparkle bright enough to blind someone. With Steve curled into his side, breath damp against his skin, Bucky found himself actually thinking about the future - about having a future. About getting to have a future with _Steve_.

He shook off the heady, tingling thoughts and tried to get his priorities straight. The future would be waiting for him _after_ he came up with a gift shittier than french maid sex. And anyway, that wasn't going to be hard. After Steve went out for groceries, Bucky ripped up an old cardboard box and headed to Sam's floor.

“You have crayons and markers and shit, right?" Bucky asked in a stage whisper, sweeping inside as soon as Sam cracked open the door.

Sam rolled his eyes and glanced mournfully at the pancake batter waiting on the counter. "What am I, a kindergarten teacher?"

Bucky looked Sam over, drumming his fingers on the large, beat-up scrap of cardboard. "I know you have art stuff - you were making those signs for the VA."

"And you can't use Steve's art stuff because...?"

"Are you kidding?" Bucky barked out a laugh and flopped onto the sofa. "He would kill me if I used his pastels on cardboard. Anyway, he can't know about this."

"Oh, I get it." Sam nodded. "This is about your weird Christmas present thing."

"Did Steve tell you about it?" Bucky asked, scooting to the edge of his seat. "What's he getting me next?"

"Oh hell no. Keep on like that and I'm not lending you shit."

Bucky batted his eyes, changing tactics, and gave Sam a shy smile. "Aw, come on, Sammy."

"Pet names will get you nowhere."

"They get me everywhere."

Sam just shook his head with a smile, and gave Bucky a coy once-over, taking in the cocky tilt of his head and the hair falling gently around his ears. Bucky had taken about a year to get his sweet talking back, but he was in full force now, and knew all about Sam's soft spot for pet names and puppy dog eyes.

Sam let out a dramatic sigh and turned back to the kitchen to heat up the griddle. "They'll get you some markers -"

"Yes!"

"- _if_ you help me with breakfast."

"Deal!" Bucky jumped up from the couch, smiling broadly. "What's on the menu?"

"Gingerbread pancakes. And since you're here to help, scrambled eggs." Sam pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge, along with a bag of shredded cheddar, and handed them to Bucky.

"This mean you're feeding me?" Bucky asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"You can eat my food, but you'll have to feed yourself." Sam smiled, clearly trying not to indulge Bucky's shameless flirting too much.

They fell into a cheerful silence, Sam plopping large scoops on pancake batter onto the hissing griddle while Bucky rummaged in the cabinets for herbs and pepper.

"So, it's nice to see nothing caught fire while we were gone," Bucky said, breaking the silence as he prodded the eggs in the skillet.

"That's 'cause you and Steve are the only arsonists around here."

Bucky laughed in agreement. Steve liked to pretend they weren't troublemakers, but there was no fooling Sam. "Name one time we set anything on fire."

"Steve burns everything he cooks," Sam said, flipping a perfectly browned pancake.

"I think you taught him how to make sandwiches pretty well."

"Damn right," Sam agreed, preening under the praise. "But I don't think I'll ever trust him with paninis."

"Don't say paninis if you're not gonna put out," Bucky whined. "I'll send Steve up here with his big cow eyes and then you'll have to cook for us again."

"Sucks for you. I'm booked up all afternoon."

Bucky turned to face him with an audible gasp. "What could be more important than making sure Steve and I are fed and happy?"

"Hmm, that is so tempting." Sam rolled his eyes. "But I'm gonna say getting laid very narrowly beats out cooking for you and your boy."

"Well, if you mean with Clint and Natasha, I guess I'll have to agree," Bucky agreed with a sigh. "Are you sharing the pancakes with them?"

"Yep. Apparently all they wanted for Christmas was my cooking," Sam said, finishing off the last of the pancake batter as Bucky spooned the scrambled eggs into a bowl. "We give each other nice presents - unlike some people."

"Bite your tongue. We're having a very nice Christmas."

"Like when you were kids, right?" Sam asked gently, just in case Bucky wasn't up for talking about the past. "Steve said you used to pull this shit back then."

Bucky just grinned in return. "Yeah, I mean, we figured if the presents were gonna be trash anyway we might as well actually get them out of the trash, you know? We knew we couldn't afford anything really good, so we'd just see who could do the worst."

"What's the worst thing he got you?"

"I don't know." Bucky hummed, and took a second to think, scrunching his brows together. "But one year he gave me a stick and said it was a pet snake. He definitely won that year."

"So it's a competition."

"Well, yeah." Bucky shrugged. "Otherwise it's no fun."

"You gonna get each other any real gifts?"

"I'm making him a new shield out of cardboard with my own hands, Sam. That's very real. I'm putting effort into this," Bucky said dryly. He was trying to look stern, but a smile crept out anyway.

They laughed together for a moment, as Sam dished up some of the pancakes and eggs for the two of them. Bucky still ate quickly, but not like someone was about to snatch the plate away, and Sam couldn't help but smile, watching him enjoy each bite with his eyes drifting shut. When they finished eating, Bucky helped wash the dishes, his expression going a little cold and nervous as he bit at his bottom lip.

"Actually, there was something I wanted to ask about the presents," Bucky said finally, not quite meeting Sam's eyes. "I guess I didn't just come by for the markers."

Sam waited for Bucky to work up the words with a patient, open smile. Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek and tapped his fingers against the counter, meeting Sam's gaze for a moment before starting down at the floor again.

Since that morning, Bucky had really stopped thinking about the future. Before his last mission, an idea had crept into his head, and the more he thought about it, the more stubborn it became, sticking in his mind and making him jumpy and blissful. The idea of spending the rest of his life with Steve was too good to ignore.

"So?" Sam prompted, when the silence became overbearing.

"So, I was thinking," Bucky said, roving his gaze over the room - the floor, the ceiling, the window. "And I sorta wanted your opinion."

"On anything in particular?"

"Well, more like your blessing."

Sam blinked slowly. "Woah, just how shitty are you making these gifts?"

Bucky cracked a laugh with more of a wince than a smile. "No, it's not about a shitty one, actually. More like a good one. Or, I hope a good one."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to be actually specific," Sam said, starting to laugh at the dramatic crease between Bucky's eyebrows . "I mean you could be asking me for a threesome right now; I really have no idea where you're going with this."

"No! No." Bucky brushed off the suggestion, waving his hands. "I mean, actually. Well, okay no, not that."

"Okay, so whatever it is can't be as awkward as you propositioning me, so spit it out."

"I'm trying to be serious, Sam."

"Don't worry about it. Your version of serious is very unsettling."

"Thanks," Bucky said, pausing for a dry laugh and deep breath. "Okay. I'm ... gonna ask Steve to marry me. I mean, I want to, but I wanted to see what you thought."

"What I think?" Sam paused. "You know you don't have to ask my permission."

"It's not that," Bucky cut in. "Just, you two were really close -"

"Come on man, that is ancient history. Not as ancient as some, but still."

"But still, you two are close, okay? And this isn't about how you were together. Just..." Bucky trailed off, pursing his lips. "Steve and I don't have anyone left, and you're the closest thing to family he has. You and Nat, I mean. And I want to talk to her, too. You're just, you know, not as scary."

"I can be scary." Sam took a seat on the sofa and motioned for Bucky to join him, which he did, tentatively leaning on the arm rest. "What do you want, some kinda 'you better take care of him' bullshit? You're gonna do great, you already do."

Tension sank off of Bucky's shoulders, just enough for Sam to see he was relaxing. "That means a lot, coming from you, so, thanks."

"Yeah, I am an expert in pretty much everything," Sam replied with an ear-to-ear grin.

"If you're such an expert," Bucky said, "what do you think about me? Do you think I'm ready for this?"

"If you weren't, you wouldn't be thinking of this at all." Sam shrugged, still smiling. "You might want to take that up with your actual therapist, but as your friend? I'm just really happy for you two."

"Well, if you're happy," Bucky said with a sigh, letting a smile melt over his face.

"I'd be happier if you'd get your ass off my couch. I've got my date in like, ten minutes."

"Markers?"

Sam hopped up to pull a gallon Ziploc of pens, markers, and crayons out of his desk. "Just promise me you're not gonna write "will you marry me" on a hunk of cardboard."

"God, no, I still have _taste_." Bucky laughed, tipping his head back with ease. "Besides, I have to give you time to think up a badass engagement gift. Unless you just wanted to go ahead with that threesome."

Sam balked, and told himself his face wasn't flushing. "What? No - _what_?"

"Aw, you got my hopes up."

"Barnes if you wanna talk sex, Steve's gonna be there, and it will be a long conversation, followed by whatever the hell I feel like doing to you both, none of which is going to happen right now. And if you make me late, whatever I do will be even worse." Sam tried to level him with a sharp, down-to-business glare, but he was too interested in the idea to be convincing.

Bucky looked at him thoughtfully, before breaking into a shit-eating smirk. "So, were these scented markers?"

"Get the fuck out."

***

After dinner, Bucky brought the finished present down to the common room, carefully tucked in a maze of tissue paper and holiday gift bags.

Steve gave him a skeptical look, and started plucking out bits of paper and packing peanuts.

"Is this one delicate, too?" he asked, giving the styrofoam a squeeze.

"Oh no," Bucky assured him. "It's real sturdy, but it's priceless, so we don't wanna damage it."

Steve scowled pulling a small, empty gift bag off the top of the stack. "Why are some of the bags empty?"

"They represent the true meaning of Christmas. Keep digging."

"Wow, that's so deep, Buck." Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled as he started pulling the bags out from each other like nested dolls.

"What did the bag do to deserve this treatment?" Natasha said, popping a styrofoam peanut under her toe on her way to the kitchenette. She and Sam and Clint has all been conspicuously absent all evening.

"It ate my Christmas present, and now it has to pay," Steve replied, starting in on the last few bags.

"What are you doing down here anyway?" Bucky asked, as Natasha reached into the freezer and pulled out a bag of pizza rolls.

"Sam was supposed to make us dinner, but he's a little worn out for that," she preened. "Did you liberate your present yet, Steve?"

Steve was still cross-legged on the floor, shaking with laughter as he turned over the cardboard monstrosity buried in the last bag. It was supposed to be Steve's shield, sort of, with red and blue rings swirling crookedly around a slanting, ragged star. "Wow, Buck! I don't even need to use my old one anymore!"

"I thought it might be a good idea for you to have a back up," Bucky said with a shrug, eyes shining from the sound of Steve's laugh.

"I guess you're full of good ideas today, Barnes," Natasha said, giving Bucky a peck on the cheek as she turned to leave.

"Were you talking to Sam?" Bucky whispered to her. She winked in return, slipping out of the room before Steve stood up to try on his new shield.

"I can't believe you even gave it handles on the back," Steve laughed, striking a pose.

"Well, we've got to make sure you can handle it, you know?" Bucky said, leaning in for a kiss.

Steve smacked him in the face with the shield, and Bucky was pretty sure that meant he'd won. 


	5. December 25

Steve was generally an early riser, strictly out of habit, but he'd given himself a stern talking-to the night before, reminding himself that there was no need to be up with the sun on Christmas day and that if he could just sleep in a little, for a change, that would be a lovely gift for him to have given himself.

And he almost managed it. When the light came crawling through the windows, Steve had pulled the pillow over his head and burrowed deeper into the warm cocoon of blankets and actually, for a change, managed to drift back off.

It wasn't the light but the _scent_ that woke him. A hint of something dark, something _black_ and burning, something was on _fire_ and Steve was fully upright and in the hallway before he registered that the intensity of the smell was minimal, that surely JARVIS would have set off the smoke alarm and/or sprinklers if they were warranted, and the faintly spicy smell underlying the scent of smoke.

He pulled out of his sprint and walked the rest of the way to the kitchen. Bucky was cursing vehemently but quietly as he tried to scrape burned cookies off a smoking pan with a plastic spatula.

"Buck?"

Bucky startled and jumped, then slumped against the counter with a sigh. "You were s'posed to be sleeping in," he said. "Sorry."

"It's all right," Steve said, and crossed the little kitchen to kiss Bucky's cheek. "Merry Christmas."

"Mmph," Bucky mumbled. He nuzzled Steve's jaw briefly, then turned back to his ruined cookie sheet. "Was gonna make cookies for everyone, but it's not going that well."

"I could help, now that I'm up," Steve offered. "Oh, wait, let me get your present."

"I'm all covered in flour," Bucky pointed out. "You maybe want to wait on that a bit."

"Nah," Steve said. He jogged out to their living room, found the box he'd been looking for, and brought it back into the kitchen, presenting it with a flourish. "Go on, open it."

Bucky took it dubiously. "Why now?"

Steve just grinned. "It might help!"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, but he popped the bow off the neatly-wrapped gift and stuck it to his left shoulder over the star, and then ripped the paper off. "It's... it's a box of baking soda."

Steve beamed. "Arm and Hammer!"

"Arm and... Oh, _Jesus_ , Steve," Bucky groaned. He turned the box over. Steve had carefully drawn the grooves of Bucky's metal arm-plates onto the logo on the front. Bucky snorted when he saw it. "This is a right arm," he pointed out. "Though I suppose I should be grateful you didn't turn the hammer into Mjolnir. Thor might not have appreciated that joke."

"He'd love it," Steve shot back. "Gimme the box back, I'm going to do that now so we can show it to him when we go down for dinner."

"No way, it's my shitty baking soda and I'm keeping it." Bucky clutched the box to his chest as if it were precious, then looked down and snorted. "This is at least a year past expiration."

"I'm not surprised. I found it in the back of the common kitchen cabinets," Steve admitted. "I think it's left over from when Clint went on that baking spree after the whole thing with the spaceship."

"The blue girl? She was way out of Clint's league." Bucky set the baking soda on the counter. "Thanks, pal. Remind me to use it to make you some really terrible cookies."

"Wait, I have an idea."

***

"Traditional Christmas cookies!" Bucky said, holding the plate out in the general direction of Rhodey and Bruce. "It's the same recipe my Ma used every year. I'm pretty sure, anyway." Each gamely took one.

Rhodey bit into his, and his features froze for several long seconds. Finally, he smiled, only slightly forced. "This is great," he said.

Steve was already on the other side of the room, offering his plate to Natasha and Jane. "Bucky worked _really_ hard on them," he said earnestly. That part was true, anyway. They'd barely finished the damn things in time to join the rest of their friends for Christmas dinner.

Bucky had moved on to Tony, Thor, and Pepper, so Steve offered his plate to Sam and Clint next.

"Do you like 'em?" Bucky asked, blinking his eyelashes at Pepper.

"Get the recipe," Tony told Pepper. Steve was almost certain that he meant, _so we can analyze its toxicity levels_. He struggled to keep his smirk in check.

Clint stuffed a whole cookie into his mouth at once, and then nearly choked trying to swallow it.

"Bullshit," Sam pronounced loudly. He pushed his nibbled cookie accusingly into Steve's face. "I call bullshit. You two assholes did _not_ need to drag us into your shitty present thing!"

Steve couldn't hold back the laughter any longer.


End file.
